Yes, I am behind in my regular postings. Urgent and unexpected surgery threw off a number of regular things in life this month.
Yes, it is June and not December. Yet, when I think of wisdom, I automatically think of the Magi and their response to the birth of Jesus Christ.
Yes, we are not sure there were exactly three Magi and the famous song “We Three Kings” written to remember their roles is not to be as revered as Scripture. Still, there is beauty and truth there, in the verses of that hymn.
When I think of the concept of wisdom, a very important synonym for me is discernment. Looking back on the nativity accounts and the words of “We Three Kings” leads me to recall some simple truths about discernment for those of us who want to embrace God’s way.
Thus, I will allow those truths to inspire four pieces of word art, to be created and posted each day through the rest of this week, to round out this month’s spotlight on wisdom.
Please return to view them. And I pray even now each will bless you. 💜
Two men separated by thousands of years. One was a priest, the other a king.
Both possessed some degree of worldly wealth. But each has been better known both in his own time and in our minds today for the wealth of his wisdom.
Yet, for all the wisdom they possessed and passed on, neither was perfect.
They were all too human.
The first, before he heard of another way, was a worshiper of false, dead gods in the religious sense. And the second, though he knew from infancy of another way, became a worshiper of other types of false, dead gods — the gods of plenty and pleasure.
And yet…the records of their words and ideas still speak truth to us today. Why is this so?
Because what is really good and true always and only comes from God. And what is really wise and prudent always and only comes from God.
So whether we speak of Jethro of ancient Midian, King Solomon of Israel, or any other wise person who has lived since, we would do well to heed a two-sided fundamental reminder.
We should never elevate the speaker of the wisdom to esteem them as much as the Giver of the wisdom. And we should never forget that the Giver of all wisdom sees the potential for redemption of and communication through every human He has ever made.
Instead of writing more about patience in this five-Sunday month, I want to pause and breathe.
I want to stop and dwell for a little while on the greatest virtue of all.
I want to exhale hatred and fear and angst and rage and grief.
And I want to inhale healing and hope and peace and trust.
I want to love.
I have read that George Floyd was my brother. I know he was already my brother in a general human sense. But I have read that he was a Christ-follower like me.
So that makes him my brother twice over. And while he was a stranger to me in this life, I will be honored to embrace him in Heaven one day.
And even though he was a stranger to me, a man I “wouldn’t know from Adam” on the street while he was living, I would never wish suffering upon another–let alone suffering a death like he did.
God, havemercy.
My heart grieves over every act of mercilessness. Every act of harming. Every act of dehumanization. Every act of cruel destruction.
And when any such act seems to be fueled by discrimination, it does more than “add insult to injury.” It slathers a despicable coating over a heep of seething evil.
Where is love? That greatest virtue…?
True love is in God’s heart that still beats with the desire for our redemption and our best. And it is in our hearts when we are attune to Him.
I realize in this moment that I don’t really want to be colorblind. Because if I were, I wouldn’t be able to appreciate and revel in glorious diversity and the gifts that all of us bring to the banquet of humanity.
I don’t want to be colorblind. Instead, I want to have x-ray vision of the Spirit that looks at other people and automatically sees the soul. I want to want the best for the stranger beside me, no matter what. And if they should become less of a stranger to me, I want to want their best even more.
Yes, let this be the heart of such love in me. And let that heart, that vision, do some small part today to melt the despicable coating and drive back the seething evil.
May I…may we…be conduits for the love and peace that leads to unity.
How God must smile when He sees us unified. And how He must weep when He sees us divided and hurting one another. My heart aches for His heartache.
I want to close these thoughts with a very short, untitled poem in Mr. Floyd’s honor:
Every solid long-term or marriage relationship requires a great deal more than attraction and charm to remain vibrant and to grow even more meaningful. One of the most important ingredients in that recipe is a steady and liberal dose of patience. That is true as the years go by, but also in the early stages, when the relationship first forms and then stands or fails during its initial tests.
I have known about this in theory, of course, after studying marriage and family counseling two decades ago and now taking further counseling classes again. And I have had the privilege of observing couples who demonstrated such patience to one another.
But I have always felt a particular appreciation for a good man who will exhibit patience towards a woman he cares for. Such behavior is one of the most endearing human displays of Christlikeness that I can think of.
And, dare I say that I have often despaired when I looked around me and considered what a lack of such men I have seen out in the world. These days, it seems that a man either has to apologize for being a man, or that he has to be assertive, aggressive, or forceful to prove that true “men” really do still exist.
While I have worked and served and prayed, I have observed and waited. I have indeed known and thought these things in theory. But I despaired at some moments. Would my own patience and hoping pay off, in the realm of relationships? Would it be possible that such a good man could still exist, and that he would be interested in me romantically?
Enter one man named Paul, stage right. A man who has turned out to show me incredible patience, from nearly the first day I met him.
Yesterday, while we spent time enjoying each other’s company and swapping stories on a bench underneath a cobalt, cloudless sky, listening to rushing water and birdsong, I rested against his shoulder and prayed something like the following in a whisper: “Dear God, I wish every woman in the world could be loved like this. This is the kind of beautiful human love that is such a gift for a woman’s heart. Thank You.”
Before we met up for some quality time yesterday, I had recently sent Paul a link to a classic Billy Joel song (since Paul and I like to share fun and meaningful songs daily with each other). I told him that I have always loved the melody of the song, but now that I was listening to it again at a different stage in my life, there were some traits of the woman as described in the lyrics that I really did NOT want to possess or show–especially towards him.
Later, the idea took root in my mind. What if I could use the tune and rewrite the words to reflect my appreciation for Paul and his patience and gentleness and goodness shown to me? In a fit of inspiration, I did so.
And yesterday, near the end of our time spent together, I sang him the result.
I smile at the irony, how I started this month with a profile sketch of a man named Paul who wrote about love being patient. And I am ending the month with a profile of a man named Paul, as sketched in song lyrics, who has showed a very patient and growing love to me already. Below, I would like to share my new words with you, as well as recordings of both the original song and the melody alone.
As I share this piece of my heart along with a reflection of the man who has captured it, I hope the words will bless you.
Round the bend in my path, I looked up and I saw you
Felt a tug in my soul, a sweet longing to know you
All the hints of true goodness, they turned out to be
May I never forget what a blessing your trust is to me
Through the ups and the downs, you spoke truth I needed
Brought the tears to my eyes, held my heart in its bleeding
Then you prayed with conviction to set my pain free
May I never forget what a blessing your words are to me
Oh, you have shown such a light
You have laid down your pride
You have beckoned me near
Oh, you have stepped through each door
You have given me more
You have shattered my fears
You rejoice in my hopes and delight in my laughter
You wait out my storming and draw me close after
Through it all, we grow deep, like the roots of a tree
May I never forget what a blessing your heart to me
Oh, you have shown such a light
You have laid down your pride
You have beckoned me near
Oh, you have stepped through each door
You have given me more
You have shattered my fears
Take my hand, we’ll walk on until we reached the next bend
Turn the way that He leads and cherish every season
May His grace be our heartbeat, His presence our peace
With God as my help, may I never forget what a blessing your love is to me
As with some other virtues, trying to define patience can be a challenging thing. The definition of it, and the many angles from which it can be viewed or understood… The way it may be easier to define patience by noticing a lack of it rather then reveling in it and appreciating it at the moments when it surrounds and embraces us…
So often, I think of patience in a more positive to negative sense. That is, when I am expecting someone to become angry or frustrated with me, and they don’t show that anger or frustration, and they wait for me to say what I need to say or do what I need to do, that has so often been to me a sign of patience. And I think I have so often thought of my own patience as being reflected in those types of behaviors toward other people too.
But there is another side to patience, that I think has to do a lot more with endurance and perseverance and hope, especially in the long dark nights of life. Patience in that case is synonymous with persistence and resilience. It does not give up but literally suffers long.
Certainly, God is patient in that sense, but the difference with God is that in His all-knowing way, He sees the ending and what will come at the breaking point of the long dark night. We, however, in our limited finite sense and bindings of time, cannot see into the future. We do not know when the end of the battle and the long dark night will come. We can only hold on, wait, pray, and use every ounce of our faith to not give up in the long stretches and the struggles and the pain we may encounter along life’s way.
A great example of this that comes to mind from history today is the example shown by the early citizens of the United States. They fought for years, even decades, for their complete freedom, independence, and ability to really establish themselves in the land they dreamed of calling home on their own terms.
A survey of all they went through in hindsight shows us the points where they were closer to victory and other points where they were so near to defeat. But of course, in their time, they could not know exactly what was happening and what would happen next. They fought, stood, responded, and carried on, helping each other and believing in faith that if they would keep fighting and keep looking upward, in the end they would it gain something sweet.
As one who has benefited my whole life so greatly from the sacrifices they made and the patience and persistence they exhibited, I am grateful. And I think this teaches us that when we show such patience and persistence, reaching out for the dreams and the hopes that we have, we may benefit in our lifetime, but it may be the generations that come after us that benefit even more. And both of those things, in God’s all-knowing plan, are great blessings. In honor of those early revolutionaries and the patience and perseverance that they exhibited, I would like to share a “sentence” poem that I wrote just now.
As a Protestant, I strongly believe that anyone who follows Jesus Christ as his/her Lord automatically becomes a “saint” within God’s economy. Some people may behave in very good ways, but no one is automatically holier than someone else based solely on what they do, and all of us are equally lost and broken, in need of grace.
And all of us have many opportunities to show patience. And all of us need equally infinite amounts of patience from God and others throughout our lives.
All that said, I do enjoy reading about saints from the past in the Catholic tradition. While they were only human, the things they learned from God can serve as helpful lessons and reminders to us all.
Today, I was reading about St. Frances de Sales. I found some details of his life intriguing, but I will choose not to focus on those so much as on a few of his words. At one point, he said, “Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections, but instantly set about remedying them–every day, begin the task anew.” And when asked by others how true patience could really be achieved, he pointed frequently back to Christ. He would say, “When it is our lot to suffer pain, trials, or ill-treatment, let us turn our eyes upon what our Lord suffered, which will instantly render our sufferings sweet and supportable.”
I could expound a little or a great deal on those two quotations, but I think today I will just choose to let them strike the reader as they might and share a song which these words remind me of. See below.
Be blessed, my friends, as you walk on and daily meet opportunities for building patience.
It’s truly ironic when the person who becomes a “poster child” for something was the exact opposite of that trait, behavior, or thing at another point in life. And sometimes people who think they don’t possess a trait actually do display it more than they are aware.
Starting in on a new month with another profile, this week’s figure may not have been particularly noted for his patience, especially in his earlier years. He was a perfectionist and legalistic at every turn. And his zeal to make sure others did what he thought was “right” led him to become an informant, a bounty hunter, and an accomplice to murder.
That was before he received his new name. One day, in a brilliant and blinding encounter, he went from being called Saul to being called Paul, a name that means small or humble. Temporarily unable to see, he was led to a safe place and nursed and healed. And after that, his life took on a whole new meaning, a whole new approach.
He was still very zealous about what he believed — in the other direction. But that encounter and the days which followed it had changed him forever. In some ways, he gained a softer touch and a deeper level of understanding towards others. He would go on to write many things about patience, both directly and indirectly. But perhaps the most famous of all those was in his attribute-laden definition of love which started right off the bat with, “Love is patient…”
What did he mean by that, saying real love was patient? I don’t think that he meant love should turn us into spineless pushovers or force us to let others treat us in dangerous or heartless ways.
But Paul had himself looked into the Face of patience when Jesus shook up his life and Paul could finally see how merciful God had been to him…even as Paul (then-Saul) had been running around killing God’s own children.
True patience reflecting true love does not need to reflect weakness. On the contrary, it is born out of a place of great strength. Strength in faith that someone can truly change with time and support. And strength in hope that the pain of the past can be forgiven and a fresh start for the future will be brighter when it finally arrives at the right time.
And these things are truly found in and truly sustained by the Savior Paul knew and loved so well for the rest of his days.
When I was getting ready to start this year-long virtue series months ago, I asked friends and acquaintances to nominate others (whether famous or not) as suggestions for these brief profiles. Of the responses I received, one made immediate and complete sense. When I think of virtuous women I have known, she stands tall among them in my memory.
But most of what I recall of her is based on memories from before the second grade. Could I recall enough to write fully about her? And could I recall her accurately enough to offer a fair picture to my readers?
To confirm my own impressions (or add to them or correct as needed), I reached out to the source of the nomination, a most beautiful and beloved woman I affectionately call Tutu (the Hawaiian term for grandmother). About a month ago, Tutu finally wrote to share her further thoughts with me, and the timing could not have been more perfect. For I was just starting this month’s new theme. And Tutu’s very insightful notes helped me not only see how accurate my young memory had been, but also some other aspects of the nominated lady I was too young to understand and then later recall fully.
Please allow me today, then, to introduce you to an angel in skin named Ethel Harris. In that tightknit farming community, she was rightfully respected by all and affectionately called “Aunt Ethel” by a number of folks, whether they were related to her or not.
She was the first Sunday School teacher I ever had, during my toddler-preschool years, a time when I needed a very special love she gave as naturally as the air she breathed. She was something like a female Fred Rogers, and she treated each of us tiny souls with all the respect, attention, and grace she felt should be afforded to any human being. But as children are so often overlooked, dismissed, or misunderstood by adults, Ethel took it upon herself to give us extra attention and care. And it wasn’t buttery or pretentious. She spoke with us in a way we could understand, but still with sincerity, respect, and great intelligence. She felt called at every turn to model the teaching of Jesus that the littlest children should know His love and never be harmed or led astray from knowing His heart. When I was with her, every single moment as a child and also when I visited her again years later, before her passing, I felt loved about as unconditionally as I have ever felt loved by another person.
These are the things I reflected on in my own experience. But then I received Tutu’s letter.
While Tutu did confirm those things I remembered, she expounded further on Aunt Ethel’s deep and genuine humility, her fervent prayer practices for others, and her tireless generosity. And while she especially loved and prayed for the children, she had a heart of love for everyone. In Tutu’s notes, for example, I learned for the first time that Ethel also spent countless hours writing letters to prisoners to let them know they too were loved and never forgotten.
What strikes me most as I review the life of this one dear woman today? I think it is that sincerity is simply and truly seen when an authentic and loving person will choose to turn face-first to the world and shine a light from their deepest heart on others. A light that only God can put there. And a light that shines purest in the absence of fear.
I know Aunt Ethel prayed for me. I am one of so many in her still-living legacy. I could not be more sincerely honored to think about this. And I so sincerely want to live the rest of my life following her example.
The same year that Bonhoeffer was ushered into glory, an American service member who had fought so bravely in the same war on the same continent came home.
And he came home a changed man.
Jimmy Stewart had been an actor before his first years of military service. And he had been a good one. From the beginning, sincerity was a must in most of his characters. And he soon gained a reputation of being both a regular guy and ideally approachable in most of his films.
But his wartime experiences changed him and, for a time, tormented him. He came home guant and dealing with nightmares and other symptoms we today would recognize as some level of PTSD. Yet, since acknowledgment of and treatment for such a condition were not really in existence at that time, he did what he knew how to do as a civilian to try and press forward.
He went back to acting.
Acting had never looked like acting with Stewart, however. So when his first assigned post-war film premiered, viewers likely thought he was just acting so well, like he’d always done.
But viewers who went to seen It’saWonderfulLife in theaters didn’t know that in many of those realistically-passionate scenes, Stewart was using his acting to work though his angst, fighting his demons while the cameras rolled.
Members of the cast would later acknowledge that’s the way it was, and that it was rather unnerving to be on set with him at those times. But those same scenes, all these years later, draw us in magnetically by their raw humanness. By their frank sincerity.
Throughout the movie, Stewart demonstrated how he really felt. And while I don’t advocate harming others or scaring them half to death when we are sincere about our needs and feelings, I do think it is a great gift when we allow others to openly and honestly speak and be. And it is a great gift when others allow us to do the same.
Thank you, Jimmy, for being real for and with us. Sometimes we need the reminder.
Sincerity, according to the dictionary I use when my ESL students, means that we show outwardly what we really think or feel inwardly.
By extension, many people may think of sincerity as being synonymous with transparency or even predictability. But is that always the case? In the life of one man, I would say both yes and no.
He was a young, brilliant intellectual with a quiet passion for truth. Over the course of his years living, studying, working, and thinking, he developed an ever increasing sense that the truest measure of abstract faith is found in visible obedience. “One act of obedience,” he wrote, “is worth a hundred sermons.”
No one who read his works or heard him preach could doubt his sincerity, that what he observed and taught fell one hundred percent in line with what he believed. And such sincerity would cost him increasingly more, test his faith even more fully, as the years went by.
Yet, as those years went by and his nation descended into further evil and chaos, the young man who had long held a pacifist’s stance began to secretly but actively try to overthrow his nation’s sovereign in a violent way. Were his feelings at that time fully transparent to the world? No. Fully predictable to the world? Absolutely not. But were they nonetheless sincere? I sincerely believe so.
For he would go to his death for his actions, but he would still preach what he knew to be true and show his Master’s love towards those around him in his prison to the very end.
His name was Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and he was executed at the age of 39. One cold spring morning at dawn, he was brought from his cell in a Nazi camp and led to a gallows to be hanged. It was April 9th, 75 years ago this past week. And it was just days after he had led his fellow prisoners in a worship celebration of his Master’s resurrection.
Protestants don’t canonize saints in the sense of the Catholic tradition. But if we started, I imagine this young man would be at the top of our collective list. And I find irony in that. Because he wanted always to mainly point others to the One he followed. As he once prayed, “May God in his mercy lead us through these times; but above all, may he lead us to himself.”
And maybe that’s the most beautiful thing we see reflected in his life: that while it was not always completely transparent or predictable, no one could doubt the depth of its sincerity.
Sounds a lot like the earthly life of his Master.
In Bonhoeffer’s honor and to the praise of the One who was there to lead him home, I offer a short poem:
